Extras
by headcannon
Summary: Consider this your DVD Extras menu. I recently found a bunch of drafts on an old account and thought I'd share them. Things to keep in mind: 1) these are unedited, 2) these are not final and any happenings are not "canon", 3) I write the same scene over and over again until I'm okay with it, and 4) I talk to myself when I write.
1. Ink Spot & Verse: Deleted Scene I

**Note: This was an unnecessary bit from _Ink Spot &amp; Verse_. I wanted to make it clear that Santana was making an effort with Quinn - and that she was astute enough to realize that Quinn needed it. I ended up taking this idea and incorporating it into the story a little differently. **

**I also have no idea (currently) what my idea was for Santana's plan when I originally wrote this. **

**This was the first crack at it: **

This was something new for Santana. She's dated plenty - with her looks, it's clear she's had her opportunities. She's usually the initiator, so that's not new.

The thing about this, though, is that she actually cares. She wants to do it right this time because, heaven help her, this is her chance at something that actually means something. She's never wanted that before.

But she wants it now.

And she wants it with Quinn.

Quinn, the girl who iced her out for no good goddamn reason. The very same Quinn who pretended she didn't exist because it was easier for her. But also the Quinn who had a chair brought out for her visits. A more thoughtful Quinn who bargained down her boss on the price of a rare-ish book.

All of those Quinns. She wanted all of them because she wanted to show them that she didn't have to call in the cold front for protection. Santana was a pussy cat. No one needed protecting from her.

Except lame asses who did.

But that's not Quinn.

So, when she finally figured out she wanted it - and that "it" didn't mean a quick something-something - she put everything she had into it. The plan included flowers, phone calls, drop-ins - all that stuff that she found annoying as shit. Quinn was worth being annoying for. And she'd never done it before.

She'd never let anyone know that she wanted them enough to embarrass herself. Santana Lopez writing love notes? Yeah, no. She didn't roll like that. But if it meant that Quinn would start to realize that she was being seen, being noticed and appreciated, then she'd give it the ol' college try.

A plan is what she needed. Something that would do all that without making Quinn second-guess her affections. The other girl saw something in her and a complete turnaround could backfire.

Part A of the plan, then, needed to be to figure out what Quinn liked about her (other than the obvious).

The problem with Santana's undertaking was that she didn't know how to play the game. She'd come up with all sorts of conniving methods of stealing into the other girl's head. She'd considered offering up a game of truth or - well, truth. But Quinn didn't seem like that kind of girl. There was the random "let's compare things you like about me to your celebrity crush" idea. But Santana really had no interest in hearing about other woman Quinn might have it for.

She wasn't really sure how she wanted to go about it but "So, what's your favorite thing about me?" wasn't really what she'd meant to come out when she saw Quinn at the book store the next day.

Quinn's eyes grew round and she blinked owlishly. "Excuse me?"

"I just mean - " Santana rolled her eyes at herself. "I know what I like about you but I don't really know what it is you see in me. Am I some hold-over crush from high school or, y'know, are you more in the present with me?"

The other girl bit her lip, her cheeks reddening. "I'm with you," she said softly, her eyes drawn to the counter in front of her. "In the present, I mean." She looked up through her lashes and said, "There's isn't a whole lot not to like about you."

"I didn't ask what you don't like about me," Santana said, a frown pulling at her lips. "This is one of those say nice things about me times." She tilted her head and sing-songed, "If you do, I'll say nice things about you, too."

Quinn giggled and shook her head lightly. "You make me laugh," she finally said, choosing the easiest answer.

"And my ass in these pants?" Santana stood up and turned around, her fingers pointed at her backside. "It's okay to choose that, too."

"Santana!" Quinn pretended to be scandalized but the laugh in her voice gave her away. "That's not bad, either."

"Not bad?" Santana actually sounded offended.

"You're more than a hot ass in skinny jeans." Quinn took the other girl's hand and genuinely said, "You're so alive and full of fire. And you make me feel like I am, too." She bit her lip and looked down.

Santana knew that look. Quinn was about to qualify her statement - say something to water it down. Before the other girl could pull her hand away, Santana rested her free hand on top and squeezed their hands together. "It's because you let me be that way without apology. I don't have to hide from you." She dipped her head and forced Quinn to meet her eyes. "And you don't have to hide from me, either."


	2. Coming Back as We Are: First Impressions

**Note: This is the first draft of young Santana meeting young Rachel in _Coming Back as We Are_ (completed fic). I've got another version of this floating around somewhere ... **

The girl staring at her wide-eyed from the other side of the doorway wasn't what she expected at all. She was wearing a pleated skirt, a pressed, white button-up shirt, and buckled dress shoes. And the bow in her hair? Santana really wasn't sure about this. She looked down at her own clothes - short-alls, t-shirt and stained Keds - and winced.

"Hi!" the girl said happily and extended her hand. "I'm Rachel and my daddy said that your daddy said that we could play together today."

Santana wrinkled her nose and looked at the girl's hand, unsure of what to do with it. It was too low and the wrong direction for a high-five.

"How old are you?" she asked, deciding that if she ignored the outstretched hand, then maybe the other girl would put it away.

"Seven in three weeks."

"I'm already seven." Santana said, dismissively. "I'm older."

Rachel simply nodded. "Will you be inviting me in or will we be playing outside?"

"Can you play outside dressed like you're going to church?" the other girl asked, her top lip pulling back a little as she checked out Rachel's outfit again. Really, there was no way the girl would be able to get good footing on the rope with those shoes.

Rachel blinked a few times and tilted her head. "I don't go to church very often but when I do, I wear my nice clothes," she informed Santana. "These are my play clothes."

"THOSE are your play clothes?" Santana asked dubiously. She couldn't quite figure out what kind of games the other girl could play dressed like that. "Mama would kill me if I wore something like to play in. She would yell at me that everyone would see my unders."

The other girl frowned. "Why would she say that?"

"I 'unno, maybe because when I hang upside down on the rope when I fight the dragon, my skirt would flip down or something," Santana guessed. "That's why Mama makes me wear these," she said as she pulled on her overall suspenders. "It keeps my shirt right. Mama's always worried about my shirt when I go to the park."

"The park?"

Rachel's family had only moved into the neighborhood a few weeks earlier. She hadn't yet had a chance to explore her new home. Her fathers were committed to unpacking the house before venturing out and looking for distractions. Distractions were easy enough to come by with Rachel around. The little girl, always the center of their attention, was constantly underfoot, asking questions or requesting their presence for an impromptu dance recital or vocal performance.

Running into Tony Lopez was a blessing. The man was friendly in welcoming them to the neighborhood and, after catching a pair of big, brown eyes staring at him from pulled-back curtains in the window, he mentioned that he had a daughter who would probably love a new friend to play with.

"Yeah. The jungle gym is the perfect place, next to my castle, to find dragons. But you hafta hang upside down because they can't see you as good if you're upside down," Santana said as though this information was common knowledge.

Rachel's eyes lit up and she hopped in place. "You really have a castle?" she asked in awe. Her father told her that her new friend had a play castle in her back yard but Rachel expected some sort of blow up bounce house or perhaps something akin to Barbie's dream house.

"Well, yeah. Where else is the evil witch gonna hide the princess?"

"And you save the princess?" Rachel asked.

"Well, yeah." The other girl shrugged and stuffed her hands into her pockets. "Someone has to, right? If I didn't, the dragon would breathe his fire on her until she was cooked enough for the witch to eat."

Rachel grimaced, her nose wrinkling cutely. "That sounds unpleasant."

"S'a good thing I'm good at fighting dragons and defeating witches then, huh?"

"May I ask, then," the other girl began shyly, "who is the princess? It can't be you because you're saving her."

Santana frowned and kicked her toe against the floor. "Daddy's been the prince lately because my princess, my best friend, Brittany, is gone for the summer. So." She shrugged softly. "Yeah."

Rachel put her hands out, her smile growing as she announced, "I can be your princess!"

"I 'unno," Santana said unsurely, squinting at the girl.

Yes, Rachel's attire was more appropriate for being a princess than for being a knight. And, really, Santana looked at the girl's skinny, little legs and decided immediately they weren't right for making the big jump from the lowest balcony - a must for rescuers. She tilted her head and reached out to touch the curled end of Rachel's hair.

She really was very princess-like.

"Okay, but you don't get to kill the witch. Like, ever," Santana informed her. "That's my job. Your job is to need me to rescue you and, I 'unno, do something that a princess does."

"Like sing? I can sing!" Rachel offered. "I know lots of princess songs!"

Santana nodded. She really liked that idea - a princess sings. It would add a little realism to their play, she thought. Rachel could be like a real Disney princess and she could be the one to save her.


	3. Sal-Verse: Santana vs Recognition

**Note: A big part of the second part of ****_Sal_**** is based around Santana's reaction to sudden fame. I wrote this scene pretty early on but it didn't really seem to hit the mood I was looking for. It's a start for where I wanted it to go but isn't quite where I need it to be for inclusion in the published story. **

"Never again," Santana announced, entering her apartment. She placed the cardboard drink carrier on the coffee table and wandered into the kitchen muttering to herself under her breath.

Lucy looked up from her Rolling Stone and frowned. "That was fast. And ..." she turned in her seat to watch look at her girlfriend, "... what happened?"

"Oh nothing," Santana said, waving her hand in the air. "You know, just your regular, everyday wacky stuff like the entire line at Starbucks stepping aside to let me order first." She shook her head in annoyance.

"Right," Lucy said slowly, punctuating with a throaty chuckle. "Who wants that, right? To get in and out of Starbucks while the coffee is still hot ..."

"I don't." Santana opened a drawer and pulled out a fork. She pointed it at Lucy and said, "They didn't do it before I started dating you." She stomped over to the couch and let her body fall heavily next to her girlfriend. "They shouldn't do it now."

Lucy smiled softly and nudged Santana with her shoulder. "It's not the worst thing in the world, is it? I know you didn't ask for it and it's not attention you want, but," she paused and raised her brows, "it could have been worse."

"Could it?' Santana asked, the ire in her voice not decreasing. "Here you go," she said as she handed Lucy her coffee. "Oh look! It's your name." Santana held up her coffee and turned it so that the other woman could see what the barista had written.

Quinn's girlfriend.

Lucy winced. "She put a heart next to it, at least," she tried.

When Santana leaned back into the couch and pouted, unhappily sipping at her drink, Lucy offered, "Want me to go down there and ask her for a drink and make her put your name on it? Maybe put Santana's girlfriend on mine?"

"No," Santana said sullenly. "I just," she rolled her eyes and muttered, "it's stupid."

"You're your own person and you want everyone to know it," Lucy explained for her. "You don't want to Quinn's girlfriend, you want to be -"

Santana shook her head and interrupted. "I want to be Lucy's girlfriend. I am Lucy's girlfriend and, no, I know that people don't call you that, but that's who you are."

"So is Quinn," the other woman stated simply.

"And she's rad, but you know what I mean. Quinn is who everyone else sees," Santana tried to explain. "She's who they all get, but she's not you. I get the real you, right?"

Lucy narrowed her eyes and studied the other woman as she thought about her question.

It was true. Quinn was mostly a character who her manager made up, but she was also very much Lucy - just a more private, closed-off version of Lucy. She was poised and calm. She was elegant and aloof. And she didn't let anyone in.

Or she didn't until she met Santana - and Sal. Quinn started acting a lot more like Lucy. She was open and excitable. She shared ideas and stories. She laughed. Lucy was pretty sure Ivan was having a stroke when he interviewed her and laughed - it wasn't one of those practiced, polite laughs she usually gave during press tours.

"There's only one me," Lucy said as she reached over and twisted her fingers around her girlfriend's. "It's just that everyone else just gets parts, y'know? You get it all." She smirked and raised a perfectly sculpted brow. "Which isn't always good."

Santana lifted their hands and kissed Lucy's knuckles. "Gotta take the good and the bad," she teased.

Lucy frowned and pulled her hand out of Santana's grasp.

"You're got a cute pout," Santana noted. "Do they get that?"

"No."

Lucy crossed her arms over her chest.

"Do they get petulant child, Quinn? Or is that just for me?" Santana checked, as though keeping a tally.

"Just for you. As is irate Quinn and storming out Quinn." Lucy stared straight ahead and tried to keep her face neutral.

"Please tell me Storming Out Quinn comes with battle action hip-sway." Santana waggled her brows and smirked. "I'm pretty sure I'd like battle-action hip-sway."

Lucy couldn't help the smile that sneaked its way onto her face. "You're horrible."

"Horribly awesome," Santana agreed. "Not only did I get in and out of Starbucks in record time, but I also got the last chocolate croissant. And, being horrible awesome, I'm totally prepared to share its flaky, sweet goodness with you." Santana narrowed her eyes and tilted her head. "Wait, what am I again? I'm horribl-"

"-ly awesome." Lucy held out her hand. "Now hand it over."


	4. Madeline (Quinntana ficlet)

**Note: This was a request from a friend who wanted to read a ****_Quinntana with a baby_**** story. It's super fluffy. **

Pulling the blanket up and over her shoulder, Quinn pressed her head into the pillow and let out a long, tired sigh. It had been the kind of day that made her seriously doubt this moment would ever come - the moment when she could close her eyes and let stillness surround her.

"She sleeping?" Santana whispered cautiously as she turned onto her side and curled herself around her wife.

Quinn grunted a short "Mm," and leaned back into the other woman. "Thought you were, too."

"You're kidding, right?" Santana chuckled and kissed the back of Quinn's neck. "Even your relaxation, ocean wave crap isn't going to stop the ringing in my ears."

An hour earlier, a loud, tinny cry wailed its way into their dreams and startled them awake. Moving as though performing a choreographed dance, Santana threw the covers back as Quinn sat up to grab the timer. She grumbled something about "not time yet" and Santana, already standing and waving for her wife to do the same, muttered, "she can't tell time."

They stumbled across the hall of their small apartment to the nursery to find their daughter, Maddie, with her eyes squeezed shut, her fist balled up and her toothless mouth wide open as she shrieked into the still dark morning. The little girl, having only been in the world for a few short weeks, was red-faced as she kicked her feet, as though trying to hop away on her back.

Santana scooped her up easily and rested the wailing baby against her shoulder. Bouncing as she walked to the rocking chair, she patted Maddie's back and made soft cooing and shushing sounds in her ear, "Its okay, baby. Mama's here and Mommy's getting something for your belly."

Across the room, Quinn mixed the pre-measured formula with water. She leaned her hip against the changing table and shook the concoction and sighed. "It's my turn," she said, holding up the bottle.

"You're tired," Santana replied, settling into the chair. "Until I go back to work and have to get up," she looked at the little elephant clock on the dresser, "until I'm getting up at this time to go to work, anyway, we don't have to worry about taking turns."

"But I was going to read to her." The other woman padded softly over to her wife and gently ran her fingers over the baby's head. Dark brown hair was tufted up and Quinn could resists touching the soft curls. "And you have breakfast with your mom. You really should try to sleep. You know how she's going to be."

Santana sighed in defeat. Her wife was right.

Even before Maddie arrived, Santana's mother had gone into mother-hen mode. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing - it was just overwhelming. She'd come into their home to check that everything was baby-proofed and didn't leave until she was satisfied that her grandbaby wouldn't be able to harm herself in her own home. Quinn couldn't walk into the living room without glaring at the coffee table corners, padded for safety for a child who wasn't even mobile yet.

Mama Lopez only got worse after the baby came. No longer allowed to call her Mrs. Lopez, Quinn had to call her Abuelita. She'd tried to argue that Mama Lopez wasn't her grandmother but was quickly hushed by her wife. Santana's eyes were wide and she shook her head. Later she explained to Quinn that her mother had been looking forward to being an "Abuelita" for as she could remember and that she still remembered playing dolls and her mom requesting that she have the dolls refer to her by that name.

"She texted me at two," Santana said, her hand continuing to pat her daughter's back. "Wanted me to send her a picture of her angel sleeping. 'Cept she wasn't sleeping so I sent her a picture of me with my eyes closed. I'll be hearing about that tomorrow."

Maddie's cries halted for a moment and Santana looked up hopefully at Quinn. The baby hiccuped, let out a tiny gurgle of a whine and then started up again.

"Okay," Santana relented. "She's all yours Mother Goose." She held the baby out for Quinn and, once the other woman was holding her, Maddie's cries subsiding as the bottle was quickly trapped in her gummy mouth, she said, "I'ma be deaf in my right ear before her first birthday."

Quinn watched her wife gently kiss the top of Maddie's head and then accepted one for herself with a smile. "I'll be in as soon as she's done and I've changed her ..."

"... and after you're done reading."

"And after I'm done reading," Quinn echoed in agreement.

Back in their bedroom, Santana sat up against the headboard and adjusted the volume on the baby monitor. She could hear Quinn's soft murmurs punctuated by the quiet creak of the rocking chair. She sunk into the bed and pulled the covers around her, closing her eyes as she heard her wife begin:

"In an old house in Paris, that was covered with vines, lived twelve little girls in two straight lines…"

Her lips curled into content smile when Quinn whispered, "... and the smallest one was Madeline."


	5. Sal-Verse: Random Interview

**Note: This is Sal-verse, again. I was playing around with themes of Quinntana in the spotlight. This is just another bit I never used (and would never have fit in the published story). It didn't really hit where I wanted. But it was fun to write. **

Fabray shows up with girlfriend in tow, though Lopez seems to hang back, making it clear that she's not part of this interview. She chooses a chair at the next table. Perhaps she wants to be within ear shot or maybe she's making sure she's close enough to catch Fabray's eye. It's a game they will end up playing throughout the interview. When they think no one is looking, one will sneak a glance and, when the other smirks or shakes her head, they know they've been caught.

New romance is a good look for Fabray.

"May I start with a personal question?"

Fabray actually pales at this but nods anyway.

"You seem much more relaxed in interviews lately. Do you attribute any of that to coming out?"

She tilts her head and squints at me as though she's pondering a deeply philosophical question. As it turns out, the question isn't nearly as philosophical as the answer.

"If you're asking if I feel more myself because people know something about me that they, perhaps, didn't know before, then the answer is 'no.' I was always myself - I've just been a very guarded version of me, that's all. I might have needed a little help," her eyes skirt to her girlfriend who is trying not to look interested as she doodles in a sketchbook, "being more open and allowing others to really see me. It's a fine line, y'know?" Once again, she tilts her head thoughtfully. "It's difficult to figure out where public ends and private begins. So, I played it safe because my privacy is important to me."

Fabray smiles softly and it's the kind of smile that makes a person wonder how she could ever have earned the moniker "Ice Queen." She's nothing but warm and friendly in this interview. Relaxed, even.

And when Lopez finally joins our table (it takes less convincing that one might think), the pair are nothing short of delightful. Their romance may been in the honeymoon phase but they poke each other and tease like an old married couple.

"Described a typical Saturday spent together."

"Including the arguments over the tv?" Lopez asks.

"Reality shows versus documentaries?"

Lopez narrows her eyes and it's obvious she's trying to figure out which option is her suspected favorite genre. Fabray, though, just shakes her head.

"No, mostly it's a discussion," she emphasizes that last word, "about the fact that it's still on."

"If it's not on, then I have to go in the other room and play video games while you're reading. And if I do that, then you'll go into the other room to read because we're supposed to spending the day together - and then you complain that I've stolen all the light for my table. Which, my table, so my light."

Fabray rolls her eyes.

"Or you could read and I could play video games all day."

"And let you mess up my game?"

Pointing at her girlfriend, Fabray sweetly says, "Welcome to Saturday."

Even with the mild bickering, the couple still gives off honeymoon phase vibes. Lopez scoots her chair right up against Fabray's and, before anyone can blink, their hands are clasped, fingers twisted around each other. There's shoulder nudging just as much as there's thumb caressing. There's eye rolling just as much as there's winking. Yes, winking.

"So, can we expect to see you on the red carpet with Quinn?"

"Oh, I don't know," Lopez says. She bites her lip and looks down at their joined hands. "I mean, I clean up nice and all but ..."

Fabray interrupts with a firm, "Yes."

"And the rumors of you jetting off to New York ..."

Fabray laughs and shakes her head. "It's a little early for that," she says casually.

"For what? Broadway and street hot dogs?" Lopez jokes. "I'm in for that. And maybe, like, some pretzels and a Yankees game. I mean, baseball's boring but, y'know, Yankees, right?"

"No baseball?"

"Nah, hockey. That's pretty cool. I'm about to get kicked out of LA for this but we went to a Ducks game and I kinda loved it."

That game provided some images of the couple unlike others taken by fans or paparazzi. Most pictures on fan sites and social media sites are of the two posed with another person. And neither girl seems particularly happy in the photos made public by the paparazzi. This is where the Ice Queen (or as some lovingly refer to her, Ice Quinn) is still alive and well.

"What did you think about the photos of you that were released following the game?"

Fabray shrugs but doesn't answer the question. It's hard to tell if she's unhappy about it because, once her girlfriend starts talking, a ghost of a smile appears on her face.

"It's like this," Lopez explains. "Most people have to, like, remember their cameras and stuff, right? They have to think ahead and plan to commemorate something." She smiles devilishly. "Not an issue for us. How many people have a picture of the moment their team scored the game-winning goal? I don't know, I think it's kind of a cool perk."

Who knew? Santana Lopez - art blogger and self-professed pop culture fangirl - also a connoisseur of silver linings.


	6. Ink Spot & Verse Variant Opening

**Note: _Ink Spot &amp; Verse_, variant scene version! Collect them all! **

**So, this is still that opening scene. I wrote this scene a lot because I just wasn't getting the feel I was after. I have a bit more Mike here than in the published version, and a little more banter - but I really didn't feel like it was going anywhere. It moved too quickly for me and had too little Quinntana interaction/backstory. **

**As you can see, it got a pretty major re-working.**

The tinny ting-ting of the bell cheerfully interrupted the waves of sound created by the pounding of rain on the asphalt. Of all the things she'd been warned about before she moved to New York - pick-pockets at Times Square, handsy travelers on the Metro, Pedestrian's Russian Roulette (otherwise known as crossing with the light when taxis are turning) - no one seemed to feel the need to prepare Santana for this: summer thunder storms.

"It should let up in about fifteen minutes," a soft voice behind her casually mentioned. "Just as quickly as they show up, they're gone."

Maybe it was that Santana had seen too many movies about old men who run used book stores. Or maybe it was because she'd never actually gone into a used book store. It could have even been that she was just unaccustomed the the heady, musty smell of old books that replaced the scent of we asphalt; but when Santana tore her eyes away from the window where she was gazing at the soaked street, she was surprised to find a girl her age sporting wild blonde hair with pink tips.

"You work here?" Santana asked, her voice almost a whisper. The moment the question came out of her mouth, she felt stupid. The girl was sitting at the counter behind the cash register. What else would she be doing there?

"I guess," the girl answered with a shrug. She lifted the book that had been resting in her lap and covered her face as she said, "Feel free to look around. Or, if you wanna know where something is or whatever, lemme know. And this isn't a library - you don't have to whisper."

Santana nodded even though, from behind her book, the girl couldn't have possibly seen her. "You only have used, right?"

"Rare and well-loved," the girl answered without lowering her book. "That's what the owner says, at least."

"Well-loved, huh?" Santana took a few steps and ran her finger along the spines of the books on the closest case. Most of the books were in good condition but there were a few with tiny threads poking out of the binding - signs of a book well-read and, perhaps, well-loved.

"S'what he says," the girl reiterated. "I don't get paid to tell him what to call his books."

"You get paid to read," Santana began as she pointed to the book in the girl's hands and squinted to see what she was reading, "Cervantes?"

"Actually," the girl said, lowering the book and closing it neatly in her lap. "I pay other people to ask me what I think about Cervantes. But that would be a waste of money if I don't actually read it, right?"

A door at the far end of the first aisle opened and a young man came striding through it. "Hey," he said pleasantly as he passed. "Can I help you find anything?"

Before she could answer, the girl at the counter said, "Rain stop."

"Oh, well," he paused and smiled politely. Pointing to his name tag he said, "I'm Mike. If you decide you wanna look for something, just let me know. I just got done cataloging a few boxes of non-fiction. So, if you're interested, I can help you out with that."

"Eh," Santana shook her head. "I prefer to watch non-fiction, you know? I mean," her eyes wandered over the titles on display in the nearest bookcase and said, "most note-worthy things that exist and have actually happened have been made into documentaries, y'know?"

"We have some great fiction, too," he offered, ignoring the annoyed sigh coming from behind the counter. "And don't mind Quinn. She's just a bibliophile. I'm pretty sure she's read every book in this place by now. And she thinks every book is the best book. "

"Untrue," Quinn said as she rolled her eyes.

"Name one book you don't like," he challenged her.

"I can name five - four of which have to do with a certain vampire who isn't even really a vampire and one that's basically a how-to book for creating and maintaining a barely consensual, sexual co-dependency."

"Twlight and Fifty Shades don't count," Mike argued. "I'm talking about real literature."

"You said books."

"I meant literature."

"But you said books."

"But I meant - "

Santana crossed her arms and watched in amusement as the two bickered back and forth. "So, I'm just going to ... " she pointed over her shoulder and, when it was obvious that Mike and Quinn were too busy arguing over details, she slipped away to explore the book cases.

She followed the autobiographies to the biographies and quickly passed the history section. She turned the corner and wrinkled her nose at the philosophy section as she strode past.

She wasn't sure at what point the poetry collection became the children's literature section; but, before she knew it, she was staring at the spines of books with titles like "A Wrinkle in Time," "The Chronicles of Narnia," and "Ender's Game." Santana ran her fingers along the shelf mentally checking off which books she read when she was little.

Halfway down the aisle, she stopped, her breath catching in her throat and she blinked at one of the titles. She gently touched the book's worn spine before tenderly pulling it from its spot on the shelf. "When I was down beside the sea," Santana whispered to herself as she slowly turned the pages until she found the poem she was looking for. She lightly ran her finger over the illustration of a small child sitting in the sand with a bucket and shovel.

Turning to the front of the book, Santana squinted at the dollar amount written lightly in pencil at the top of the title page. Her lips pulled down, melting the soft smile she wore into a small pout. "Hey," she called up to the front as she held up the book. "Is this price for real?" she asked.

Quinn bit her lip as Mike told her to bring it up to the front for him to check. The other girl brought it up to the counter and laid it gingerly on the desk.

"Three hundred kind of seems like a lot," she said as she ran her fingers over the cover.

Quinn studied Santana. She noted how the girl softly gazed, almost with longing, at the book. The small sigh Santana exhaled when Mike confirmed the price stabbed at Quinn's chest.

"Is it okay to take pictures of books?" Santana finally asked quietly.

Mike shrugged. "As long as you credit the store if you publish the pictures," he said. "I guess it's okay."


	7. Ink Spot & Verse: Variant Ending

**Note: A deleted bit and randomness from _Ink Spot &amp; Verse_. I wasn't going to post this because it's actually kind of embarrassing. But, on the other hand, it illustrates very well the ridiculous way I write - and the even more ridiculous way that I talk/write to myself as I do it. **

**In the immortal words of Katy Perry (snirk): This is how we do. **

"You didn't want to assume that, because I get my ass over to this store nearly every day for two weeks, I might want to go out with you?" Santana teased. "No, I can see how that could be misleading."

"Your guise of visiting the book was very convincing."

"That was the plan," Santana said, her lips quirking into a crooked smile. "What if I take you out? If by the end of the night, you're not convinced my interest wasn't solely in the book, then - well, I won't go away. I'll just try harder. I mean, you practically ignored me and I still kept coming back."

And she did. Time after time, Santana came back.

The morning after their first date, she showed up with a cup of coffee "just because." In reality, she wanted to reassure Quinn that she wouldn't disappear. When the other girl greeted her with a brilliant smile, she knew she'd made the right move.

That smile had her doing little things like walking with Quinn to her Metro stop (four block in the opposite direction of her usual route) and leaving notes in the books the other girl borrowed to pass the time between customers at work. Santana had little experience wooing - she was always the one being wooed - but that didn't discourage her from giving in a little to her romantic side.

The first note was hastily shoved into the book when Quinn stepped away from the counter to stock a book. Santana had no idea how long the other girl would be gone, so she opted for a yellow post-it, folded in half. It wasn't the most romantic of messages.

To Quinn's surprise, though she felt badly for her lack of faith, Santana didn't avoid the store after their first argument. The other girl sat patiently in the big, comfy chair and watched Quinn help customers, answer the phone and log inventory. Santana didn't interrupt the girl's work day; instead, she sat back and mulled over the argument in her head.

It was a waste of energy, really. Quinn was touched by Santana's (can't think of the word) and couldn't seem to remember what they'd fought about.

HOW DO I END THIS? OH MY GOD THIS IS INSANE. i've completely lost what I was writing about and now I'm writing about writing because I don't know what to write.

CAn't I just use - the end?

I overwrote this and now I'm lost. And the girls - god - they aren't helping. They just want to talk and talk and talk until I let them kiss. But I don't know how to get them there if all they do is talk. So, I try to write some movement, get the relationship moving so that them kissing doesn't seem rushed.

And I write myself into a corner by having Santana write notes now. I don't want her to write notes. That's silly and requires more thought that I'm willing to give to it. Besides, it's a Quinn thing Santana's like - lemme kiss you. That's how she rolls. You think I don't like you? Lips. There you go. Proof.

Maybe legs and other body parts, too.

So, okay. Think, think, think. Head canon - it's what you do best.

Wrap it up by ...

Okay. So let's go with the whole Santana coming back thing. Parallelism. She comes back after the first date to prove that she's not going anywhere. Quinn is beside herself with happy happy joy joys. She comes back after they have a fight and she doesn't rush Quinn to talk. She respects her work space but knew that avoiding the store would scare Quinn. So, she goes and just sits in the Quinn's chair and reads or listens to the other girl help customers. She comes back after Quinn accidentally uses the L word one night during a phone call. Quinn stutters a bit about "love about you" not "love you" because she just doesn't get the fact that Santana could totally love her back. She's working on the self esteem part. So, Santana shows up - empty handed. No coffee. No flowers. Nothing. It's not that Quinn expects gifts from the other girl - that'd be silly. She just wasn't used to Santana without some offering - something to be used as evidence of her affection and/or attention. Quinn mentioned a movie she wanted to see, Santana had the Fandango tickets. Quinn mentioned in passing an artist she enjoyed, Santana just happened to have a calendar, mug, print ...

But she shows up and she's got nothing. Just herself.

And that's what she offers Quinn.


	8. Coming Back as We Are: Treehouse

**Note: Here's some of the backstory/headcanon for the treehouse in _Coming Back as We Are_. I haven't gone back to the published story to see how much I (we) used. **

The tree house was her daddy's idea.

Originally, it started out as a castle for his little Princess Santana. But trying to incorporate input from both his wife and his daughter made creating a castle difficult. For one, Santana wanted it up high so that she and Daddy could do their Rapunzel game - but "for reals this time."

Every night before bed, Santana pulled her hair out of her pony tail and brushed her it while her Daddy watched. At first it was just to make sure she was actually doing it - there was a time when her hair brush was used as a sword more often than for its intended purpose. Once her Daddy started making it fun and begging her to let down her hair, Santana fell right into the game.

Her Mama wasn't a big fan of the princess moniker for her little adventurer. It was difficult for her to tie together the images of a princes and a scrape-kneed knight. Whenever she tried to play along with her husband and daughter, she ended up just sitting back and smiling at their antics. Daddy was always the prince and Santana always the knight who rescued him.

With Santana's need for her new play house to be up high and his wife's request that it include something safer for the little girl to climb than the trellis next to the kitchen window (Santana's favorite place to hang by one hand and sword fight imaginary dragons), her Daddy made the decision.

That old tree, the one that drops those ridiculously large berry-things that are responsible for most of the stains on his daughter's clothes, would finally earn its keep. After removing the old tire swing and plank-seat swing, he got out his drawing paper, took preliminary measurements and started drawing up a plan.

Both of Santana's parents worked, of course, and they were proponents of equality in the home. Mama woke Santana and got her ready for the day, including tying her hair back in a pony tail or pigtail braids, before dropping off her daughter on the way to latest assignment as a hospice nurse.

Her daddy was in charge of dinner. On the days when his wife worked late, he and Santana would eat pizza in front of the television - he would later tell his wife that he made sure Santana ate her vegetables (tomato sauce is close enough). After dinner and play time, her read her a bedtime story, stood outside the bathroom as she brushed her teeth and then followed her to her room uttering his now-ritual pre-goodnight message: "Santanita, Santanita, let down your hair!"

Their schedules meant that the tree house would become his weekend project - and he took weekend warrior to heart. The first weekend was spent doing nothing but going over drawings and looking up standards for code. He didn't want to build something that would be condemned if ever it was inspected. The second weekend was spent double-checking his measurements and making sure his idea would actually work without risking sacrificing his initial design.

The actual construction took three weekends. He thought it would take fewer but with Santana's constant puttering around and "helping," he felt lucky when it was actually completed. It's not that Santana wasn't a helpful child. It's just that her idea of helping was helping him do what she thought should be done. When she saw the paint buckets in the garage, she hefted them onto her wagon and wheeled them out to the backyard where her father had just lined up the wood by size. She insisted that they paint the wood first (because it seemed much more fun than carrying wood around the yard and stacking it up - that seemed kind of dumb to her).

She was a quick study though. It was both a good and bad thing. After her daddy explained why he lined up the wood, she decided that it would be smart to line up the wood screws, too. And it would have been, had her daddy not spent thirty minutes separating them and piling them in order of when they would be used. Pile one was for planks one and two, pile two was for cross-plank one, etc.

If there was one thing about her daddy, though, it was that he never lost his temper. He's smile and say, "Thanks, angel! That was really helpful. I bet we'll get this done in no time." And then, when she wasn't looking, he'd fix what she'd done.


	9. Coming Back as We Are: Move the Party

**Note: An unused portion of _Coming Back as We Are_**

** ... in which Santana tries to get Rachel to move their slumber party to the treehouse.  
**  
**Also, this was before the handmaid meme ... **

"Are you sleeping?" Santana whispered, peeking over the side of her bed where her friend was bundled up in her Hello Kitty sleeping bag. Even with the curtains open and the full moon lighting the corner of the room, she couldn't tell if Rachel was sleeping or just being uncharacteristically quiet and staring at the ceiling.

Her friend was silent for a moment longer before she hummed and whispered, "I suppose I am. But I might not have been a minute ago."

The other girl wrinkled her nose and, pushing the hair out of her face, she suggested, "Let's go sleep in the tree house."

"It's too cold."

"It's just right with our sleeping bags and blankets and stuff. C'mon, Rach," Santana whine. "Please? Pretty please?"

Rachel let out a soft sigh. She wasn't very good at this peer pressure thing - a fault Santana wasn't too proud to take advantage of.

"Fine. But you're carrying my sleeping bag up," she demanded. "Last time I nearly fell and broke my neck."

"Last time you nearly fell on me and broke MY neck," Santana corrected her friend as she swung her legs out of the bed and started rolling up her blanket. "Stepping on my hand was bad enough."

"You shouldn't have crowded me on the ladder." Rachel pushed the sleeping bag off of her legs as she spoke. "It was dark and you weren't doing a very good job of lighting the ladder."

"It's a key ring flashlight, Rachel," the other girl argued, pushing at her friend until she rolled out of the sleeping bag. "It lights where it's pointed and, because you insisted on going first, that meant it was pointed at your boney butt."

Rachel gasped. "My backside is not boney!"

"And that's the point of this discussion, isn't it?" Santana shook her head as she gathered the sleeping bag and her blankets. "You have everything you need?"

Rachel shrugged "I guess."

"Okay," Santana whispered as she tip-toed to the bedroom door. "Quietly. If you wake Mama, she'll make us come back here to sleep."

" ... obviously a horrible idea ..."

"You're the one who wanted to be friends. You totally signed up for this," Santana joked in a hushed whisper.

Years had passed since the morning that Rachel stood on her doorstep and, using her best manners and most friendly smile, tried to befriend the other girl. It wasn't that Santana wasn't interested in a new friend; it was just that she wasn't sure about this particular girl's ability to fulfill that role. She was very different from her other friends - everything about her was very different.

Santana's nose wrinkled when she opened the door to find a short, skinny girl with big, brown eyes staring up at her. She wasn't sure why the girl was smiling so big. At first she thought that maybe her hair bow was too tight and she was trying to be brave and not show it. That's what Santana always did when she got hurt.

Her latest injury - compliments of a flying monkey attack as she traversed the backyard in her pirate ship - required two band-aids and her telling her daddy three jokes to convince him that she wasn't hurt too badly to go back to her treasure hunt.

That was the other thing about Rachel. Her knees were completely injury-free. Not even a scratch.

What kind of games was she supposed to play with a girl who didn't even have a bandage on her knee?

"Hi?" she said unsurely to the little girl staring at her from the doorway.

"Hello! I'm your new friend. My name is Rachel and I'm six years old," Rachel informed her happily. "And you're six, too. Your daddy told my daddy. And then he told Daddy that I should come over and play with you. I live over there," she pointed down the street. "I'm not usually allowed to cross the street by myself but my Daddy was watching so it's okay."

Santana's eyes widened as the girl spoke. When Rachel mentioned her dad, Santana's eyes flicked to where a man stood on the lawn, a few houses down and across the street, and waved at her. She slowly lifted her hand and waved back, dumbfounded.

"Daddy suggested that I introduce myself to you and invite you to play," Rachel said. "Would you like to play inside or outside? I've very good at hide and seek, if that's something you think you'd like to do. I also play very nicely with dolls and other toys. I rarely have to get new toys because I treat them very well and don't break them. So, if there's a special toy you'd like to share, I promise not to break it. What kind of toys do you play with?"

Santana blinked owlishly a few times. "I have swords and stuff," she said slowly. "And, like, dress up things."

Rachel clapped and hopped in place. "I love to play dress up! Do you have a ballerina costume? I have a real ballet outfit because I take classes, but I also have one just for play with a tutu and tiara and everything."

"Like a princess ballerina?" Santana wrinkled her nose as she tried to picture it.

Santana squinted and studied Rachel. She could easily picture Rachel as a ballerina. And, okay, she could kind of see her as a princess. Rachel definitely had the hair for it. The girl wore it long with soft curls draped across her shoulders.

"I'd love to be a princess ballerina!" Rachel squealed happily. "And you could be my handmaid!"

Santana couldn't stop her upper lip from curling back in disgust. She had a bad feeling about this handmaid thing. "Do handmaids do cool stuff like save princesses from dragons and witches?"

Rachel shook her head. "No, of course not. That's what knights and princes are for. Handmaids," she informed her new friend, "braid the princess's hair and help her get ready for the royal ball."

"That sounds lame," the other girl said. "I don't wanna be that."


	10. Faberry Prompt

**Note: ****I don't usually write Faberry (not that I'm opposed - I just never attempted it before). This is a prompt I received quite a long time ago and never posted. **

**Also features Brittana (who I also don't really write).**

Santana smirked as she walked beside her best friend. "You're gonna love this girl," she said, knocking her elbow into her friend's side. "She's, like, this tiny little thing, right? But the way she talks? Good god!"

"What does that mean?" Quinn asks, her brow quirking. "How does she talk?'

"Loud and without pausing. It's fuckin' unbelievable." Santana shook her head and scoffed. "I bet she's got great lung capacity for," she paused and waggled her brows, "y'know."

Quinn's mouth fell into a disgusted frown and she pushed her best friend away forcefully. "Ew! Santana!"

"What?" the other girl laughed even as she rubbed the side of arm where Quinn hit her. "I'm just saying it's a pro on the list, y'know?"

"Wait, wait." Quinn stopped walking. "If it's so hard to come up with pros," she started, tilting her head at her best friend, "why did you set me up with her?"

Santana shrugged, threaded her arm through Quinn's and pulled her down the sidewalk. "Because her best friend wouldn't go out with me if I didn't set her up with someone ... said something about her being an annoying third wheel or something."

"You set me up with an annoying, loud third wheel who talks to much?"

"You are very welcome," Santana joked, tightening her arm around Quinn's. It wasn't so much a comforting move so much as one made to insure that the other girl didn't try to run.

The two girls rounded the corner and Santana's back straightened. "There they are," she said, pointing to a couple standing in front of the cafe. "The hot blonde is mine, so don't even think about it. And anyway, blonde and blonde totally doesn't work. It's, like, scientifically proven."

Quinn frowned. "Really? Scientifically?"

As they got closer, Santana said, "Yep. Like, every television show that has hot chicks who dig each other have a brunette and a blonde."

"That's not science," Quinn said. "That's media and ..." Her statement died in her throat.

In front of them, a tall blonde girl was waving happily as they neared. The girl next to her, a small brunette with big, brown eyes and polite smile, shyly pushed her hair behind her ear after making eye contact with Quinn. "Santana's friend, Quinn, I presume?" She asked warmly as she held out her hand.

"Uh," Quinn blinked a few times and, after an elbow nudge to her side, she quickly shook the other girl's hand and squeaked out a tiny, "yeah."

"It's very nice to meet you. In case Santana didn't mention, my name's Rachel." She firmly shook Quinn's hand, her smile never wavering.

"I"m Brittany," the other girl said, reaching out and placing her hand on top of theirs. She shook their clasped hands as though it was completely normal.

"Awesome, so," Santana grabbed Brittany's hand and pulled her closer. She pulled two pieces of paper out of her jacket pocket and shoved them at her best friend. "Enjoy your movie, compliments of Fandango and Brittany's gift card. We'll catch you after for drinks, okay?" She didn't wait for a reply before nodding and saying, "Okay!"

"Wait, you're leaving?" Quinn asked, hoping her panic was only evident to her best friend.

"Britts promised me a special somethin' so, yeah," Santana answered. Winking, she added, "Don't do anything I wouldn't do. And, y'know, that doesn't count a whole helluva lot out."

As Santana dragged Brittany across the street, the girl called out, "Have fun!"

Rachel and Quinn watched their best friends make their way down the street until they couldn't see them anymore. Blowing out a nervous breath, Quinn slowly turned her head toward the other girl. "So ... "

"So," Rachel repeated excitedly. "I've been waiting forever to see this movie. Brittany informed me that musical movies are your favorite genre. Mine, too!"

Quinn frowned, her voice much softer than the other girl's. "Actually, I prefer mysteries or psychological thrillers."

"Oh," Rachel's bottom lip jutted out. "So, the tickets they purchased for us for this evening's showing of Singin' in the Rain wouldn't actually be of interest to you." She slowly exhaled, as though centering herself, and muttered, "I see."

"It's not that I hate musicals," Quinn quickly offered. "I just wouldn't say they are my favorites,that's all."

Rachel looked up at her through her lashes, the corner of her mouth pulling her lips into a half smile, "So, you're not going to call it a night, then? I've had people ditch out for worse reasons than movie genre choices."

Quinn shook her head. "I can't imagine that," she said, taking a moment to look at the other girl. "If anything, I'd think prospective dates would change their genre choice just to get to spend time with you - even if it's just in a dark theater where we aren't even going to be allowed to talk."

Rachel's cheeks reddened and she blinked demurely. "If you'd like to talk, we could go somewhere after the film. We don't HAVE to meet up with Brittany and Santana ..."


	11. Making the List: Additional Scene

**Note: This is an additional scene (there are a few) for the Quinntana Week 2013 submission I wrote called "Making the List." Geek!Quinn and Popular!Santana - and ****_Game of Thrones_**** ridiculousness.**

"Hey!" Santana called, hurrying to catch up with Quinn.

Turning in surprise, Quinn's brow furrowed when she saw the other girl rushing up to meet her. "Uh, hey," she said in confusion. "Did you need something?"

"Do I have to need something in order to talk to you? If so," Santana teased, "I suppose I can come up with something."

Quinn pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at the other girl. She was pretty sure that their encounter the other day had been swept under the rug - bygones or something. She didn't actually think Santana was serious about the whole date and prom and prom date thing.

She spent a lot of time thinking. That's just who Quinn was. If she wasn't thinking about something she'd read, then she was thinking about something she'd seen. Or thinking about crossing-over something she'd read with something she'd seen. It didn't matter. Her mind was always turning things over. So much so that sometimes it kept her up.

Only the night following their talk, Quinn wasn't kept from sleep because her mind was preoccupied with getting Toothless into Daenerys's dragon court. And it wasn't the task of choosing her favorite Doctor, either. (That had kept her up many nights and, on more than one occasion, she found herself reviewing her tumblr and tallying up the number of reblogs each Doctor had).

Quinn kept rolling their conversation around in her mind and looking for loopholes - for anything that would give away some hint that it had never happened. Because things like Santana Lopez asking out Quinn Fabray just didn't happen. For hours she mulled it over - what was it that Santana believed she saw in her behind her floppy, short hair and glasses?

"So, maybe we should hang out or something sometime," Santana suggested conversationally.

"Why would we do that?" Quinn asked suspiciously.

"I know you're not familiar with our strange earth customs, but it's what people do." Santana smirked and raised her brows. "I'm not sure what folks do on your planet or whatever, but here - civilized people talk and hang out and, like, get to know each other."

"Allow me to rephrase," Quinn replied. "Why would we want to do that?"

"C'mon, Q," Santana urged. "I thought we were past this whole thing with you thinking I didn't really ask you to prom."

"You didn't."

Santana sighed. "It was implied. So stop running Quinnterference for a second and just, like, relax and let this happen."

"Quinnter-what?"

"It's a thing you do," Santana started to explain before she felt an arm rest around her shoulders.

"Hello ladies," Blaine said before giving Quinn his full attention. "So, the true Baratheon is prepping for dragons ..."

"Prep all you want, you have nothing in your armory that can defeat Targaryen dragons," Quinn replied. "One word and your army will be annihilated." She stepped closer, her eyes boring dangerously into Blaine's. "And you know it."

Santana inhaled deeply at the fire she saw in Quinn's eyes. She couldn't deny that there was a part of her that wanted to make Blaine continue to say whatever geek-speak he was going on about. There was something about that spark in Quinn's eye that stuck a fire in her belly.

"And what about Melisandre?"

"She'll burn, too." Quinn raised her her hand. "And you know the rules, Blaine. Anything said in the halls doesn't count. The field is where we make our demands and where," she raised her brows, "some will fall for failing to remember their shortcomings."

Santana smirked. "Please tell me I'm allowed to interrupt Nerd News Tonight for a few well-timed short jokes."

Blaine huffed in disappointment. "Sometimes it sucks having your best friend double as a mod."

"First of all," Quinn began, "I didn't ask to be the mod - just happened to be that way. And it we're going to have rules, then we need to stick by them. Can you imagine if Karofsky came barreling at you in the hallway every time he wanted to challenge you?"

Frowning, Blaine muttered, "Stupid Hound."

"So, uh," Santana started as she wrinkled her nose. She pushed her friend's hand from her shoulder. "Is mod like, Mother of Dragons or something?" she asked.

Blaine chuckled under his breath as Quinn stepped back in disguise. "No," he corrected her. "Mod is moderator. Though, I guess I can see how you got the other."

Quinn tilted her head and studied Santana, asking curiously. "And what do you know about the mother of dragons?"

"Not much," Santana admitted. "Saw her topless once. That was pretty awesome."


	12. Making the List: Additional Scene II

**Note: Here, have another scene from "Making the List." I'm pretty sure at one time I was going to make a multi-chapter out of this. Obviously, that didn't happen.**

Quinn squinted as she watched the other struggling to open her locker. Usually Santana came across as very capable - on top of things - but today, she seemed a bit off. She watched as, for the third time, the other girl failed to open her locker with her combination and sighed. By the time Quinn crossed the hallway, Santana's forehead was resting on the locker.

"I doubt it can read your mind," she joked. "Even if you press it up against the door like that."

Leaving her forehead on the door, Santana twisted her head and looked at the other girl in confusion.

"Here," Quinn said, pushing Santana's shoulder. "Let me try it. What's your combination?"

"25 - 12 - 40, I think."

"You think? You've had the same locker for over three years." Quinn shook her head and tried the combination. When it didn't work, she tried mixing up the numbers and, eventually, figured out that it was 20, not 25 and 45, not 40.

"You're awesome," Santana said with a soft smile. "If I wasn't so tired, I'd probably kiss you."

Quinn's choked on - well, she wasn't really sure but she thought it might have been the air she was attempting to inhale. "I just opened a locker. No big. And," she said once she'd recovered, "if you weren't so tired, you'd have been able to do it yourself."

"I really am SO tired," the other girl admitted as she shoved her entire book bag into the locker. "At first it was like, I'll just watch a couple of episodes, y'know? See what all the hub bub is about, right? Then you're telling yourself, it's only another fifty-seven minutes - you can watch another. Before you know it, the entire season is over and you're about to be late for school."

She closed her locker and turned to lean on it. "And I think I left my bag at home," she added before mumbling under her breath, "Friggin' Game of Thrones."

Quinn's brows furrowed. "One, it's not the show's fault you didn't get sleep and two," she paused and pointed to Santana's locker, "I'm pretty sure you just put your bag in there."

Santana looked the other girl up and down and then smirked. "Didn't know you were paying such close attention to me," she teased.

"Someone had to save you from a forehead-door meld," Quinn replied. "And I thought you didn't like Game of Thrones."

Santana shook her head. "I didn't say I didn't like it. I just said I didn't know what it was. Had someone told me there would be a bunch of naked girls AND dragons, I woulda been on board much sooner."

"It's more than just naked girls and dragons, Santana."

"Says the girl who role plays as the dragon girl." Santana's brow jumped. She couldn't keep her eyes from skirting down to Quinn's chest.

"Never topless," Quinn informed her.

"No one's perfect, I suppose," Santana said as she pushed off her locker. "You're hotter than the girl on the show, though. I mean, she's cute and all but she looks like she's twelve, y'know? Except I've see her topless, so maybe she's a little older, I don't know how they grow 'em in England."

"Stop talking, please."

"What? Why?" Santana pouted cutely. "We're having a conversation about that show you really like."

"Actually," Quinn corrected her, seemingly unfazed by the way the other girl's lip stuck out adorably. "You're having a conversation with yourself about seeing an actress topless. I just happen to be standing here and the actress just happens to play my favorite character on one of my favorite shows."

"Well, if we're not gonna to talk about it, then why'd I spend all that time watching it?" Santana frowned, her nose crinkling. "I mean, yes, okay, it's a good show. But, damn, I woulda paced myself or something. You do realize that I watched nearly ten hours of that show practically in one sitting."

Quinn tilted her head and let out a sigh. "You don't have to watch a show because I watch it. And you certainly don't have to do it in one day-"

"- but I wanted to. You keep saying that we don't have anything in common, right? That I don't know you or know what you like or whatever. So," Santana shrugged sheepishly. "Never let it be said that I don't try, Q."


	13. Geek Quinn and Pop Santana

**Note: This is random something I wrote. It doesn't belong with any pre-published story or any ongoing idea I'd had. In fact, when I found it I didn't even remember writing it. Hope you find it more memorable: **

"And then I told him to take his Doctor Who speculation off of the main blog because it's not even a Whovian blog," Quinn explained as she rolled her eyes. She sighed and shook her head, "Sometimes it's not worth the trouble moderating when people just don't want to follow the rules."

Mike nodded in agreement. In all honesty, he didn't really know what Quinn was talking about or even why she was talking to him. All he'd said was "cool shirt" and the girl kind of just starting rattling on from there. And how Doctor Who fit in with anything, he really wasn't sure.

"Hey geek!" a boy called out from down the hall.

"Uh," Quinn took a step back as she looked around her. When she looked back at him, she pointed to herself. "Me?"

"I don't see anyone else around wearing a," he paused and looked at her outfit, "what the hell is that, anyway?"

Quinn sighed. Didn't anyone know classic gaming anymore?

"Okay," she said, starting her explanation the same was as she just had with Mike. "This guy is Link - he's from the Legend of Zelda, a video game - and this guy is Harry Potter, see? He's from, well, the Harry Potter literature and film franchise. And they're both reaching for a a round object that has wings. Potterheads will call it a snitch but Zelda fans ... "

The boy smacked her hand away from where she pointed at her shirt. "I don't care."

"Well, you asked," Quinn replied. She turned to Mike. "He asked."

"I didn't actually want you to explain it, geek. Jeez." He frowned as he looked her up and down. "And I didn't tell you to talk to me."

Quinn nodded sagely. "Oh, oh. I get it," she clasped her hands in front of her. "You're trying to intimidate me. I got it. Okay, go ahead."

"Dude," Mike interrupted, "just leave it alone."

"Leave it alone? She's like some walking freak factory. You ask her a question and she gives you, like, an encyclopedia answer."

"See?" Quinn addressed Mike but her finger was pointed at the other boy. "He did ask me."

Reaching out and grabbing her finger, he squeezed and, through his teeth, he said, "You're not better than me."

From behind him, a confident voice said, "That's debatable. What's not is that I am."

Quinn wasn't able to see who was speaking - or she wouldn't have been even if her eyes were open. When she cracked one eye open, she tried to see but a letterman jacket was her only view.

"Let go of her afores I make you."

"This isnt' your business, Santana," the boy said.

"No?" A girl in a short cheer leading uniform stepped out from behind him. With her hands on her hips and a sharp head tilt she asked, "Where are we?"

"At school ..."

"At school," she repeated. "And that's, William McKinley High School, right?"

Without letting go of Quinn's finger, he turned his attention to Santana.

"Simple yes or no will suffice. Unless you don't know, that is." Santana raised her brows. "It's okay to say you don't know. I can appreciate honesty."

" McKinley," he said slowly. "Yeah."

"Good, okay. So, we're at McKinley and, oh, new question," she said condescendingly. "I'll ask it nice and slow, don't worry. Who owns this school - and I want specifics."

"Um," his brows furrowed and he frowned. "Cheerios?"

"Yes! Good, you're not as stupid as I thought you were. Nice! Now, let me see if I have this right, "Santana started ticking items off on her fingers, "we're at McKinley, the very same McKinley that the Cheerios run and, oh, what's this? I'm the captain of the Cheerios. You know what that means?"

He started to open his mouth but Santana held up a finger. "Don't answer that. You'll just piss me off even more." Running her hands over her skirt, she said, "I run this school - everything is my business. So step away from Q or you're in for a world of hurt."

Quinn's watched wide-eyed as the boy deliberated silently with himself over is course of action. For a short - and painful - moment, she thought he wasn't going to listen to Santana. It could have been that, before finally letting go of her finger, he squeezed it even more tightly.

"It's not over, geek," he said menacingly.

"Yes it is." Santana said in a bored tone. "And you," she added, pointing to Quinn. "Awesome shirt."


	14. Quinntana, Post-Valentine's Day

**Note: I don't know what this is or if I ever posted it anywhere. **

"I didn't call you for," she paused and blew out a nervous breath, "y'know. This isn't about Valentine's Day."

The way she bit her lip made Santana blink a few times. To be honest, that thought hadn't crossed her mind. Quinn Fabray reaching out for a booty call? Please. She met her at the train station because that's what best friends do - even when there isn't the promise of sex.

"Kinda didn't think it was about that," Santana said evenly. "Since we haven't actually addressed it since it happened. You're kinda the Queen of Avoidance on the topic, it seems."

Quinn crinkled her nose and furrowed her brows. "I haven't been avoiding anything."

"Okay, sure," Santana replied as she pulled Quinn's bag from the ground. Turning on her heels, she called over her shoulder, "Let's get outta here. There are better places to not talk about this and other things we can be not doing. Or something."

Quinn walked quickly to catch up with her best friend. She was pretty sure she was still allowed to call Santana that - her best friend.

"Have you heard from Brittany?" she asked, thinking it might be a safer topic.

"Nope."

"Nothing?"

"I said no," Santana said firmly. "Back off."

They walked in silence for a few blocks. Quinn tried to keep her eyes on the buildings as they passed. Playing tourist seemed like a good distraction. Except it meant that when Santana stopped abruptly and turned around, she didn't see and ended up walking right into her friend.

"Watch it," the other girl said. "Now listen because I'm only saying this once. Brittany is off limits. We can talk about anyone or anything else but -" she blew out a sharp breath "- no Brittany."

"But - "

"No."

"Fine," Quinn ground out. "What would you like to talk about, then?"

"We can start," Santana said, resuming her stride, "with your surprise visit. What's up with that? I was pretty sure you said that New Haven was just the right amount of stuffy for you.'

Quinn rolled her eyes as she matched steps with her best friend. Their feet moved in sync and their strides, even though she was taller than Santana, matched almost perfectly. It was probably a cheerios in sync thing.

"I don't know," she admitted. "I just wanted to see you, I guess."

"Because all those times we've talked on the phone isn't enough for your romantic little heart?" Santana teased before sticking her index finger in the air and pretending to remember something. "Oh, that's right. You haven't exactly been good at playing Alexander Graham Bell with me. I shouldn't be surprised. You really don't seem like the role playing type."

Quinn moved closer and whispered harshly, "I didn't know what to say. I'd never done anything like that before."

"Yes, you did."

"No, I really didn't."

"Puck."

After a short beat, Quinn said, "It's not the same."

"Sure it is," Santana argued. "Get a little booze in you. Flirt a bit and ..."

"... and nothing. You didn't talk me into sleeping with you. I chose to do it - I planned to do it before we even got our first drinks down." Quinn blinked a few times at her confession. She hadn't expected to admit it - on a public street corner.

Santana stopped walking and pointed to a brick building. "This is me." Before leading Quinn up the steps, she turned and met the other girl's eyes. "I don't take advantage of people. So, I guess," she shrugged as she pushed out a quick, "thanks for not making it like that."

"It really wasn't like that," Quinn said, gingerly touching the other girl's arm. "If anything, I was the one who -"

A loud bark of a laugh erupted from Santana's throat. She almost dropped Quinn's bag as her arms pulled tight over her stomach while she laughed, shaking her head. "Who what?" Her laughter died down into giggles. "Do you really think you took advantage of me? I'm GAY, Quinn. And you're - how do you not get this - you're hot. Not only that, you're the type of hot that only a straight best friend can be. I wasn't about to pass up a once in a lifetime opportunity. It was like Halley's comet or something."

"Please don't liken sex with me to something like that." Quinn's lips pressed together into a firm frown.

"Why not?"

Taking her bag from Santana's hand and opening the door, she looked over her shoulder and answers, "Because it means it can't happen again for seventy five years."


	15. Sal-verse: Santana-centric

**Note: _Sal-verse_ \- This was pretty much a brain dump to see where I could get when I was having writer's block (the first or seventieth time). It's very much Santana-centric in that it focuses on her insecurities as well as where she is with Quinn/Lucy. **

**Because it's not the same tone as what's been published, I don't see myself using this as is. It would take a major re-working and would end up looking very different if it ended up being included.**

**Also - I yell at myself somewhere in here re: tense shifts. I'm horrible about that on first drafts. **

It isn't a big deal. So what if Lucy is wearing her favorite Super Mario pajama pants? And, really, who cares if she's borrowing her "Old School" Nintendo controller tank top? The fact that this woman - this person she's been thinking of consistently for months, even when she had no clue who "this person" was - but that fact that this woman looks absolutely adorable in Santana's geek gear is nothing. Not a big deal.

Not at all.

Not even a little.

Except for, y'know, that fluttery thing that keeps happening in Santana's stomach. She's pretty sure it's her nervous system calling her out; but, she chooses to ignore it. There's better things to pay attention to, anyway.

Like the way Lucy's hair looks a little wild just from the simple task of removing and replacing her shirt. Santana wasn't in the room for that. It's probably for the best. She's certain her butterflies would have megamorphed into giant Mecha Bats had she been within viewing distance of that event.

It takes most of Santana's energy not to walk over to Lucy and brush her fingers through her untamed mane. Not because she wants to fix it - it just looks so inviting.

Only she hasn't been invited.

In fact, she has to remind herself, there isn't a lot of voluntary action going on at all this evening. Had it not been for the paparazzo (or, as Santana has decided to deign them "papar-ass-o"), Lucy would be enjoying the comfort of her own bed, in her own apartment - in her own pajamas.

They'd talk on the phone until one of them called the other out for yawning too much (and then apologizing about keeping the other awake). And then they'd argue about who wants to be on the phone and why it's stupid to apologize and - anything else they can come up with to stay on the line, to keep connected, for just a few more minutes.

One night their goodbye debate lasted nearly as long as the conversation that preceeded.

Tonight, their discussions were tense. Though both girls were comfortable with each other, just knowing that there was a man waiting outside for Lucy to come out made them nervous. They didn't think he'd actually try to enter Santana's apartment to get his picture (even paparazzi play by those rules); but, the idea of a man sitting outside with a camera and staring at Santana's bedroom window or the door to her building creeped them out.

They made small talk and even went with tiny grunts and hums instead of words, phrases or even movie references in Santana's case. It was easier because too many words strung together would require thought. Perhaps Lucy didn't mind thinking but Santana prefers not to. (FIX TENSE, GDAMNIT)

If she thinks too much, she'll let her mind go back to the car, back to Lucy's strained features and her own dopey attempt at fixing the situation. She'll want to apologize (again) for her inabiliity to be relevent in the face of extreme situations and she'll want to hear Lucy say (again and again) that it's fine. Or maybe, though Lucy didn't say it, that it's more than fine - that she likes it.

Sometimes the friendship feels one sided. Sometimes Santana is the geek and Lucy is the popular girl - only her name is Quinn when she plays that character - and they don't act out every teen-angst movie ever written. They don't figure out what they have in common and they don't meet in the middle.

Instead, Santana watches the other girl from her side of the room and wonders if there's room for her there. She knows what she looks like (and how to accentuate her positives); but, she wonders if a girl like her could really stand next to a girl like Quinn and be anything other than extraneous.

But then Lucy looks at her, with those knowing green eyes that have gold flecks of kindness in them, and she thinks that, for Lucy, she could try to be. She could find it in herself to use proper social cues and disengage her quote-sheild (because that's what it is - a shield she uses to not have to say what she thinks).

She'd be able to try that to be part of Lucy.

Only, she remembers, theres's a whole lot of people who want something Lucy - Quinn, actually.

There's people with microphones, people with cameras, people with iPhones, people with Sharpies and movie posters ... that's a lot of competition.


	16. Sal-Verse: Con Press I

**Note: I wrote this when I was in the "learn about characters through media" frame of mind. Here's some Unique Adams and Quinn Fabray during a press meeting at the con ... **

**Also, there's a hint in here about what Quinn's next movie is. It's really, really random and so vague and if you get it, then you win - well, nothing. Just my everlasting respect. **

Unique Adams winked as Quinn moved forward to offer (yet) another sound byte. She'd been saying the same things about the movie all day - that it was great fun, that her cast mates are truly (truly!) her best friends, that she's looking forward to filming the sequel.

She was pretty happy about the fact that there wasn't an official red carpet. Guests were invited to meet media representatives before and after panels and signings. There were few she was obliged to attend - the smaller press meetings were a must; but, the larger ones, like the one she'd just stepped into, were voluntary. Quinn preferred a more informal, conversational interview, anyway.

Seeing Unique's smirk, though, Quinn knew the woman holding up her phone, no doubt using it as a recorder, had no intention of asking her about the film's success. It made her second-guess her decision to drop in but Unique had already seen her- it was too late to turn around and spend the rest of her break in the green room.

"Ms. Thing," Unique began. "Last time our paths crossed was on a red carpet when the movie premiered. Did you ever think you'd see me at a shindig like this?"

It was a soft start and Quinn appreciated it. Most of the rest of the press immediately jumped into relationship questions and, even though she knew Unique wouldn't stray from the topic for too long, it was nice to have someone greet her with a question unrelated to Santana.

Quinn laughed softly as she shook her head. "No, but I kind of hoped that you'd be here - maybe in costume? I hear from reliable sources that Wonder Woman is about to make a big comeback. You could have been on the front end of the trend."

Unique frowned playfully. "Baby girl, nothing is a trend if Ms. Unique didn't start it, m'kay? And lemme tell you, I don't know nothing about this picture book stuff but Double Dub ain't never not been a trend. And I know all about your reliable sources." She pursed her lips and raised her brows to punctuate her sentiment. "Speaking of, where's the Portia to your Ellen?"

"Santana," Quinn kindly corrected. "And she's around here," she craned her neck, her eyes scanning the crowds lining up for autographs, "somewhere."

"Since the initial confirmation, it seems she's been keeping you all to herself." Unique clicked her tongue. "It's like my two best friends suddenly stopped posting on Facebook or something. No more pictures, no more nothing."

Quinn's shoulder jumped slightly, offering a half-shrug. "While I'm happy to confirm my relationship, I'd prefer to keep the details to myself. Does anyone really need another picture of us at the farmer's market?" She smirked before adding, "Or maybe I am just keeping her all to myself."

"I won't lie. I've visited her blog," Unique confessed. "Girl's talented. And twitterpated. Check this out." She swiped and poked at her phone's screen before turning it toward the other woman. "Now, these aren't all commissions, are they?"

Quinn pressed her lips together and tried to hide her smile. She was very familiar with the site displayed on the phone. Santana had just changed her blog theme so that really highlighted her art. Her entries were organized in neat block, nearly all of them held a piece with her face and dressed as one superhero or another.

"This one," she said, poking the screen and enlarging the image, "is very important."

Unique studied the image and held it up for the cameraman to see. He rolled his eyes, popped his head around the camera and said, "We'll insert a still later." He poked his finger in the air and gestured for Unique to continue.

"Does it have anything to do with the announcement you're scheduled to make at the next panel?" Unique asked. "And is that water that's s'posed to be drippin' all down your front?"

"Definitely not water." Quinn tilted her head and winkled her nose. "If I answer anything else, I might get in trouble. So, come to the panel. And then I suggest you check the schedule for another panel that might not have all of the guest panelists listed," she hinted.

"And if I meet you there, will Girlfriend be there? I have words for her."

"Oh, do you?"

"Women of color. She needs to be working that shizz, y'know?" Unique waved her phone at Quinn. "Look, your girl is super popular without you. With you? She's the Queen of Social Media. She even got a bunch of people to wear shirts that say FaNerd - a name she came up with herself. Lord, she drew you lookin' so fine, I almost bought me one! Now, imagine what she could do if she backed something with substance." She held up her hand. "And you know I don't mean you. I meant something with more substance than wrangling fangirls."

"And boys. She wrangles the fanboys, too," Quinn quickly added. "Don't want to leave them out."

A man with curly hair and a dimpled chin gave Unique a quick, apologetic smile as she interrupted the interview. "I'm sorry, Ms. Adams," he said. "I have to steal Quinn away for the next panel. I'm sure we can schedule something after if you'd like to continue."

"Oh, I'll be 'round," Unique said, waving him off.

Quinn smiled sweetly and let Will lead her a few steps before she turned around. "Unique," she called back to the woman. "Santana's substance? I think you'll be really happy with some of the things she's working on. Maybe you can ask her about it later." She offered a quick wave and then turned to follow Will to the stage.


	17. Sal-Verse: Con Press II

**Notes: This one is just dumb. I mean, really. I was feeling goofy and wanted to see if I could include a pop culture reference in every one of Santana's replies. **

**And yes; I could. And I did. **

Santana Lopez has been making a name for herself as a successful freelance graphic designer for years. Her pop culture art blog has been included on many year-end top ten lists - her work is sought after so much that, if you blink, you just might miss the window of opportunity to request a commission. The last one opened at midnight and was closed thirty minutes later with an apology note filled with words of awe and gratitude.

BloggART writer The BlogSmith talked with Lopez about her rise to fame (something she may not believe actually exists) and her exciting new project.

You just announced on your website that you will soon be illustrating an original comic book, a collaboration with rookie writer, Tina Cohen-Chang. How do you think your original book will compare to the books that are already out?

Comparing anything new to anything that already exists is a bad idea. You're limiting yourself both by what others have done and by expectations. I don't want to set myself up for that kind of task. I'd probably be too scared to complete it if I thought I had to fill Iron Man's boots. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering. And I don't really want to suffer for my art if I don't have to.

What we're doing is new - a different kind of hero who maybe does a different kind of saving - and if I start thinking about how my characters are going to measure up to well-loved characters like Batman and Superman, then I should just snap all my pencils now.

Rumor has it that your hero is a six-year-old boy?

Yes, but he doesn't know it yet. All he knows is that the biggest problem in the universe is no one helps each other. He sets out to right that with limited means and facing obstacles that some might think would immediately take him out of the hero game. And - well, I don't want to give away any secrets.

If I may expand on the rumor, the inspiration behind this new hero is your nephew, Sal, right?

Tina and I have wanted to collaborate for a long time but we could never agree on a project. One night we were brainstorming and our conversation derailed - we ended up talking about Sal. He's one of my favorite topics, so it wasn't a stretch. He's a resilient little guy, y'know? He was poked and prodded for the better part of a year and what does he complain about? The fact that his mom won't let him grow his hair into a mohawk. That's a hero, y'know? Someone who looks at his bald little head and sees the chance to do something different.

What we have left from the experience is only what we takes with us. That's a big theme in the book.

Is it true that it was your artwork that gave Quinn Fabray a basis for her portrayal of Donna Troy? Many of your fans have pointed out that your characters' eyes are always full of emotion and you give them a depth that's difficult to achieve in illustrations. Those same fans point out that the film version of this character does a lot of eye-acting. Do you think there's a connection?

Many of the truths we cling to depend greatly on our own point of view. Personally, eyes are very important to me. They let me know when someone's genuine, when someone cares or, in some cases, when someone isn't interested. So, yes. I put a lot of effort into giving my pieces eyes that convey something. But if you watch Quinn's earlier movies, you just might see that she's always played her eyes - always.

Speaking of Quinn ...

You're braver than I thought.

That was a perfect transition! And is one you were probably expecting.

This has been a day for detours. One question about Quinn because, as you know, privacy is very important. And if I say something I'm not supposed to, then I'll be in the doghouse. And given that I don't have a dog ... bad news for me.

The story of how you and Quinn became "You and Quinn" is well-known. At what point did you realize that Quinn was someone special and what ran through your mind at that point?

We talked a lot before we actually met in person. When I say we talked a lot, I don't mean a lot like every couple of days we'd pop up with a little greeting. I mean that if we weren't texting, we were talking on the phone or over Skype. One day she was busting my chops over a reference I misquoted, just having a complete field day with the idea that I, the pop culture geek, got a quote wrong. And you know what I thought to myself? Wonderful girl. Either I'm going to kill her or I'm beginning to like her.

Lucky for us all, it was the latter.

In my experience, there's no such thing as luck.

It's only after re-reading the interview that I realize I've been reference-bombed, something Santana Lopez has become an expert at. In a recent People article, she provided most of her thoughts in the form of Harry Potter quotes. She's definitely a personality to watch.


End file.
